


Rumors

by RedMoon616



Category: American (US) Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - College/University, Art School, Fluff and Angst, Love, M/M, One Shot, References to Depression, Romance, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-17 22:28:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15471495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedMoon616/pseuds/RedMoon616
Summary: Ezra is a lonely college student who finds shelter in one of his professors' arms.





	Rumors

**Author's Note:**

> Just an idea I decided to run with, and my first gay romance.

 

   There were rumors, around what used to be my dorm, probably started by some douchebag football player or whoever; doesn’t matter. It went like this: some dude that lived in the room down the hallway of the second floor was kicked out of the campus and almost expelled because he was caught sucking his Advanced Chemistry professors’ dick under his office desk. Apparently, said guy was fired and never hear of again; that’s how the story goes, according to most people. Now, the actual truth is quite different.

   I was twenty-two years old when I got into my first choice of college to major in art. I moved to the campus since I didn’t have enough money to rent an apartment (all my savings were going into paying for my career) and my mom’s house was a state away. I roomed with some dorky dude who was studying computer science or some shit I still don’t care about, and we had the worst room of the entire dorm. In the middle of the first floor, right across the campus’ main dealer, which meant people coming and going at all times of day and night, just fucking annoying as hell. We didn’t have a heater, and we never got one despite all the requests we filled at the front desk of the administration building. It just sucked to live there. And to top it all, we hated each other.

   To be honest, I think that back then I just hated everyone. I was in a really angsty part of my life, to begin with, and college social life didn’t help my situation exactly. I’ve never been good at making friends, and the few I’d back home went to other universities. So, I was all alone and ostracized by all the people in my classes. No one gave a shit about me or my depression, and I couldn’t tell my mom about it because she already had enough to worry about. I wasn’t worth it, I know.

   Having no alternatives, I buried myself in my studies, working my ass off and striving to get the best grades I could. Of course, that didn’t help my social life either, between not having time to go to fraternities’ parties and being too exhausted to do so, and being pegged as a loser nerd, it became a vicious cycle in which I fell more and more deeply into a sort of self-induced workaholic zombie life. I lived for classes and classes alone. I would have overworked myself to death if it weren’t for one of my professors.

   My History of Italian Renaissance Art professor (HIRA), Mr. Dean Morgan, was tall and broad, with a body that looked like he liked to go for a run in the mornings before getting to class. He walked with a confident stride and had a ready smile plastered on his face almost 24/7. His green eyes would peer into your very soul if you stared at them for too long; they were just enticing. With black hair and a salt & pepper beard, he was one of the most handsome men I ever crossed paths with. He was charming and quirkily smart; he could go on and on about almost every subject you could think of, even outside of his class material. He loved to read and to listen to classical music (but he also liked jazz greatly). He always wore a smart suit, alternating between sweaters and vests, but always looking absolutely dashing. He really was something to admire. Still can’t believe that he really noticed me amongst all of his students.

   I wasn’t particularly interesting or noticeable, just plain with my short jet black hair and lanky body structure. I’ll give to myself that I’m above average height (but not as tall as him, who’s a few inches taller) and that my jaw is rather something to look at, and so are my cheekbones. But besides these particular characteristics, I’m not worth a double take. I have dark chocolate eyes, I’m quite pale –as opposed to my HIRA professor who always seemed to sport a healthy tan, which I believe it had to do with his morning runs– and really skinny, like no exercise-developed muscle whatsoever. To be honest, I just look gay as fuck, and that probably didn’t help my poor reputation either. I think other dudes avoided me constantly because they were afraid I’d try something with them or whatever. Totally untrue, they’re not my type anyway. No, I’m into older guys.

   So, as I was saying, Mr. Dean Morgan noticed somehow that I was depressed and submerging myself in tons of papers and assignments just to give myself some semblance of reason to keep living another day. I don’t know if it was just my general behavior or something that I was letting show through my barely-legible handwritten works, but I remember clearly that one day, right after he dismissed us from his class, he called my last name and asked me if something was wrong. I said that everything was fine, that I was just a little tired. Of course, I wasn’t going to pour my heart out to him; he had better things to do than listen to my whining, but he still said that if I ever wanted to talk I could go to his office after class. This shocked me to no end since students weren’t allowed to freely walk into the part of the administration building that housed the professors’ offices (unless they were there for studying matters). I thanked him and said that I would take his offer into consideration, not really wanting to bother him but also unable to resist starting making up excuses in my head to go see him.

   It wasn’t until three weeks later that I found the courage necessary to knock on Mr. Dean Morgan’s office door after my last class on Friday. Actually, I just waited ‘til the spring break was around the corner since I felt I was going to explode either from bottling up everything I was feeling or from the sheer want to talk to him in private. He received me with a charming smile, a little more enthusiastic than he usually used in class. He invited me to sit down in front of his desk and offered me something to drink, which I answered that a bit of water would be just fine. Most importantly, he gave me ample space to talk, not rushing me or asking too many questions. I could actually take my time to think about how I was going to word what I wanted to say. In the end, I told him about my lack of socialization and increasing depression and stress regarding school-related work; he told me that I should take advantage of the spring break to loosen up a bit and relax before the classes reassume in a couple of weeks, and that if I couldn’t fix my social interaction dilemma (especially since I wasn’t leaving the campus like 95% of the rest of the students) I could always ring him up and we could meet for coffee or go to an art gallery

   That’s how it all started; he gave me his phone number, which totally caught me off guard. I’m not stupid, okay? I knew that his intentions seemed more than purely friendly even back then, but for me, it was just a nice gesture born out of pity; empathy at large. He was a concerned teacher looking out for a potentially suicidal student. It didn’t seem much more to me since I was way too less confident about myself that I am now. I practically didn’t possess any self-worth. He was just being nice, that was all. Or at least that’s what I believed.

   I was afraid to call at first, letting pass almost an entire week before giving in. I just didn’t want to come off as too desperate or needy; he was doing me a favor after all. We agreed to go for a coffee a late afternoon on a Saturday, near the campus since we both lived close by. We just sat there chatting and laughing for a good two hours and a half, mostly until he had to leave (really since I had nothing else to do). Unexpectedly, we arranged to meet up the next day to go to an art show that he wanted to check out some time ago in a gallery downtown. I said yes immediately, wanting to spend as much time with him as I could. I really didn’t have a clue on what to wear, so I just went with the most formal and least casual attire that I owned. In all honesty, I just wanted to resemble his style a little.

   The art gallery affair went surprisingly well for being my first time in such a place. He couldn’t believe that I was an art student who never attended that kind of event. I told him that I went to art museums, but he countered –despite it being the very subject that he teaches– that they showcased the past, and in order to truly live art I had to witness the present first. I agree, I just never had someone who I could go with, and I always had the impression that you couldn’t go to one of those things all alone. At my involuntary voicing of this thought, he gave a hearty laugh and said that he was going to make his personal mission to take me to as many art gallery shows as possible. I wanted to say that he didn’t have to, that I wanted to bother him like that, but instead of my mind being the one forming the words, it was my heart. So I ended up saying that I would really like that.

   And that was the beginning of our short-lived friendship; we spent most of the spring break and even some of the subsequent weekends once classes began going to different galleries, museums, and coffee shops, just living life to its fullest and enjoying each other’s company. I can’t deny that in that short period of time I started to fall in love with him, even against my better judgment. I knew it would lead nowhere and that in the end, it would only cause more pain that the one I was struggling with before all of that even started, but I was so happy and excited for once in my life that I just couldn’t resist any longer and let myself get carried away. If he noticed it in the way I looked at him when I thought he didn’t see me or how I smiled every time he said something clever or funny, I’m not entirely sure. He was better at hiding his true feelings than I was back then.

   All things considered, I think that I managed quite well to act as if everything was the same. When we went back to class it was easy for me to fall back into my hardcore studying and avoiding of social problems. My peers’ attitude towards me didn’t change the slightest, so it wasn’t that hard to pretend that I was still depressed. Damn, most of the time I wasn’t faking at all. Thank God he was there to help me cope with it. He was a beacon of light in the darkness that was my everyday college life.

   To be able to gain more access and private time with him I started to take extra assignments, usually ones that had to do with something that we’d seen on our museums’ tours. That way I was able to compartmentalize and it made things easier for me. At the end of the day, I still had other classes to attend to and for which to do more papers. Nevertheless, I’d say I was quite content with my life so far. I thought there was nothing that could top things as they were, but I was wrong. There were still surprises waiting for me ahead, the kind I would’ve never even dreamed of in my wildest fantasies.

   The first sign was a short letter left in my dorm’s room; an invitation to dinner. I just couldn’t believe my luck; Mr. Dean Morgan was asking me out on a date! I mean, he didn’t explicitly refer to it as such, but it was kind of obvious even to my naïve self of back then. I didn’t want him to go there and withstand the possibility of being stood up, so I decide to answer him by leaving a coded message on my latest paper to be handed in. His satisfied reaction came back when he returned it with a playful smile full of amusement and something else far darker, that I couldn’t decipher at the time being. Needless to say, I was fucking ecstatic to go on a date with my professor, the very same one that treated me like a normal human being worth something more than a disdainful side look when walking down the hall. I finally had someone that not only saw me but actually looked at me, noticing that I was there.

   The dinner went smoothly, even with my awkward floundering all over the place. We went to a fancy restaurant despite my assuring that any cheap place would be fine by me (mostly because I could afford those lowlife places). Even if it was a date in my head, I didn’t want him to pay for everything just because he felt like he had too; or even worse, because he thought I couldn’t even afford a night out (which I almost couldn’t, really). Still, he insisted, arguing that he didn’t mind paying for everything since he usually didn’t treat himself to that kind of outing either. I didn’t know what salary a college professor had, but it gave me the impression that it was a well-paid job. I could only imagine what his apartment would look like –and thankfully for me, I didn’t have to wait too long since after the third date we ended up there.

   He had a flat just at the border between the campus and downtown, which made it quite accessible for him to go to work and for me to visit him some Saturday nights. The first time I went nothing really happened; we were still figuring everything out and he didn’t want to pressure me into doing something I wasn’t comfortable with. He’s such a sweet guy. The second time, however, we did start doing some stuff, just kissing and maybe even some dry humping on my part (as ever the horny virgin that I was). But mostly we took it slow, especially since we were venturing into the forbidden territory of a professor-student relationship, something that could make him lose his job and get me expelled. I was afraid, but the thrill of it all and just the feeling of finally being wanted by someone was too much of a temptation for me. I gave in instantly and never stopped since.

   The first time we fucked was gentle and romantic, he didn’t want to hurt me and said that until I accustomed to it he would do it carefully and slowly. It was a nightmare for me, a delicious one. All I wanted from him was to fuck me into the bed, couch, floor, shower, kitchen counter and basically every surface of his place. But in the end he was right; he would have split me in two if he hadn’t waited until my body was ready to take a rough pounding. It all worked out and I enjoyed myself thoroughly. By the third time that we did it, he had me moaning into a pillow, spilling nonsense out of my mouth while letting my bottom be ravaged by him. He was rough all right, even liking to leave marks like bruises and hickeys, but he never did it on places that would be visible when I was wearing my usual clothes. They didn’t –unfortunately– last for too long anyway, so there was no evidence whatsoever of our dirty deed.

   To not get into too much repetitive detail about our relationship, it went like that for the duration of my career. Once I graduated we made it official, he even proposed in the same art gallery that started everything and all that. We still went on dates while I studied, the same thing just rotating the variations. We went to dinner, to drink coffee, to art galleries and museums, and slept together almost every weekend. By the end, we were pretty much in love and well on our way to deciding to live together. And that we did, right after I finished and before he put the ring on me.

   Nowadays we still live in his apartment near campus, but we are considering moving to the countryside once he retires from teaching. I spend most of my time either curetting for galleries and museums or showing and selling my own paintings to the world. He’s always right there by my side in every art show opening, supporting me unconditionally. Never mind the thirty years age gap between us, we’re still thinking about adopting, since in-vitro is a bit out of our financial reach, and besides we believe it to be more sensible to give a better life than to create a new one. That’s basically our plan for when we move out, for now, we’ll just enjoy each other’s company, professing our love wherever we go in this country.

   In the end, that rumor that flourished out of that God-forsaken dorm was blown way out of proportion. It wasn’t a chemistry professor but rather an art history one and neither was he fired or was I kicked out of campus. Actually, no one ever found out about our relationship, to begin with. We lived happily ever after, although I have a confession to make: I did suck Mr. Dean Morgan’s dick numerous times, right under his office desk, but also under the one on his lecture hall.

 

The End

 

**Author's Note:**

> Of course, any comments and feedback will be appreciated. Thank you for reading and check out my other works if you're interested. <3


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